


Andraste's Knickers

by Dior_Dior



Series: Leather and Gold [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dior_Dior/pseuds/Dior_Dior
Summary: Tabris and her companions come upon Haven where she is reminded once again of her past when she encounters Shianni. Her relationship with Zevran appears to be taking an edge that is more than just physical--but is Bridget ready for this?





	Andraste's Knickers

##  Leather and Gold 

###  Part 3:Andraste’s Knickers

Haven. 

It was cold, covered in a fine dusting of snow, and cursed. At least, I had to imagine that it was cursed. Considering it guarded a relic so holy, it was surprising but the entire place was eerie, and populated by the remnants of a cult. When we refused to abort our mission, we accidentally provoked them, causing them to attack. We slew every last one of the townsfolk, and the ensuing silence afterwards was deafening and disturbing. I wished to quit the place but we pressed on. 

Brother Genitivi, being from Denerim, was essentially a local celebrity. Even in the Alienage we had heard of him and were aware of his contributions to Thedas. I was nervous about meeting him, and even more nervous that I might find him dead, or not find him at all. But when we searched the Chantry, we found him locked behind a concealed door; he was hurt, but thankfully not on the edge of death. For someone so travelled and wise, the man was humble and unassuming. He was strong and brave as well, it turned out, after what he had endured at the hands of the deranged cultists. I found myself conferring to him a great deal of respect, and my nervousness was replaced by my sense of duty and springing to action. We tended his wounds and aided him as best we could before seeking out the Ashes. I allowed him to remain in the ancient ruins and study. There was a tenacity to his manner and a stubborn will that would not be denied, and it seemed like keeping him away would not only punish him, but keep hidden from Thedas whatever he would uncover about this ancient place. I worried momentarily about more cultists, but acknowledged that we were more likely to find them ahead of us, and not behind. I had the impression too, that he had encountered far more dangerous places than this. I tried to get my mabari to stay with him, but he would not be parted from me, and we left Genitivi to his studies. 

My suspicions about the cultists rang true. We encountered more hidden in the ruins as we made our way through them. Like the ones in the village and the ones who ambushed us at Lake Calenhad, these warriors were exceptionally strong--almost superhuman. Alistair, Morrigan, Zevran and I struggled at times to overcome them.  
The ruins were freezing, but incredibly impressive. I was unsure who built them, or when, but there was skill cut in every stone, dedication etched in every pillar, and beauty carved in every statue. Massive stone ceilings arched hundreds of feet above us, and we stepped as quietly as we could on the ancient marble to avoid the deafening echoes that would give us away. We did not know if our fights with the cultists had attracted more, so we took no chances. 

We finally made it to a doorway that opened into caves that appeared to be dug into the mountainside. Initially, they were icy and cold like the ruins, but as we progressed the ice melted, the air thickened, and warmth filled the stone and earthen passages. A scent lingered on the air that I could not place, but it had a sulphuric quality to it. When we entered and for quite a while as we traveled through these tunnels, we encountered no creatures or cultists. Declan scouted ahead, followed by Alistair. Morrigan went next; the two would occasionally torment each other with interrogations and jabs. Zevran and I took up the rear, looking out for followers.

“So, Bridget,” Zevran said to me quietly, “do you think these Ashes will cure the Arl?”

“I certainly hope so, otherwise all this effort could have been spent on the Blight. Sten already scolded me enough about this detour.”

“Surely, ridding the world of a dangerous cult and saving a famous scholar is worthwhile, no? Even if our Qunari friend does not approve.”

I smiled and agreed. Zevran was still incredibly ambiguous in his morals, and cocky and arrogant. But it seemed that he truly reveled in our successes. He actually enjoyed the genuine gratitude showered on us from those we encountered in our journeys and had been able to help, whether it was a nobleman or a peasant. His pride extended to the whole company, and he seemed to be proud of our efforts overall, our strength, our skill, and our purpose. Sometimes, I swore this pride was directed at me specifically and I strove harder. I told myself that he believed in me, and wanted to prove myself to him, even if I didn’t have to.  
Since he had first given in and revealed to me the secrets and skills essential to assassins, our evenings together were mostly spent sparring after an evening meal. I found, during these sessions, that here was very little he would not divulge to me if I prodded enough--particularly if I was undressed somewhere in the process. If we had the time, we would practise until it was too dark to see, waiting until someone would make a mistake in the fading light, causing the other to tease or ridicule them. I could tell as time went on that he was impressed. More recently, these evenings would almost always end with a skin of wine and a string of compliments before we inevitably found ourselves naked in his tent or mine, which we now pitched close to each other. It was two days now since our last evening together, and I found my body missing his. Even as we walked cautiously through the ancient tunnels, I had to stop myself from brushing his hand with mine and overcome the urge to kiss his shapely mouth. 

My thoughts were halted by Declan’s barking, and suddenly we were upon them--dragonlings. They were tough creatures with rotten breath and heat radiating off of their scales. They must have been the cause of the smell and melted ice. We encountered and killed several as we continued through the caves, keeping pace while we clearly began to move uphill. Alistair suspected we were moving up and through the Frostback Mountains themselves. Finally, fresh air blew on us and we stepped into a massive cavern within the mountainside. Stopping short, a small group of men came towards us, and their leader offered us a deal. 

Brother Kolgrim was a brutal looking man. His features were sharp and bold and dark. His entire body was bulked with muscle and suggested he was born and bred for battle; his fellow warriors appeared the same, though he was the most intimidating. I concluded that our best option right now would to swear our “allegiance” to cult. His request and our initiation required us to defile the Ashes. I made a promise to do so, even though I had not such intention. This false partnership would get us safely to the Temple. My options were few at the time; we had been walking and fighting incredibly strong enemies, and this would enable us to recover our strength before our deception was undone. I had to persuade Alistair to trust me, since he could not see I was bluffing. Thankfully, that meant that Kolgrim did not realize it either. As he guided us to the temple, I thanked Andraste for our safety because above us we saw that there was an enormous High Dragon. Kolgrim reasoned with the beast--apparently the cult _venerated_ the creature. Utterly deluded, they claimed that this dragon was Andraste herself incarnate. The reality behind their superhuman strength was disturbing: they drank the blood of this dragon. Once past the dragon, we cautiously entered the Temple, leaving Kolgrim and his men outside. 

Shortly within, a ghostly warrior wearing ancient armour stopped us. He claimed that he was pledged to Andraste, and oversaw the protection of the Temple and her Ashes until such a time his duty would be fulfilled. This was the Guardian who had denied Kolgrim and the cultists access to the Ashes. In all our travels, I still had never become convinced about the Maker’s existence, but in this temple, my belief in Andraste was reaffirmed. I sent up a prayer to Andraste that my falsehoods to the cult would not deny us entry as well, and that she protect us in her Temple. Thankfully, the Guardian seemed to have no idea of what had transpired between us and Kolgrim, and simply informed us that we were to pass a series of tests to prove our worthiness to Andraste. I exhaled with relief.  
Before allowing us to begin the tests that he called “The Gauntlet”, he stopped us to ask a series of questions. 

“Before you go,” he said, “there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past--your suffering, and the suffering of others.”

All of this was true, but what was his point? Did he want to know if I was angry? If I blamed Andraste, or the Maker? He continued.

“By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized. You were too late. Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?”

I had not expected this question, and was slightly taken aback. My nightmares had not been plagued with broken memories from the Alienage for several weeks now, but in an instant my mind flooded with images from that day. I remembered finding my cousin Shianni; she was as he said. She was bruised and her spirit broken. Her body had been violated by our captors, and the memory made my heart pound and my blood boil, just as it had then. But as much as I could have blamed myself or anyone else, I knew that it was not my fault. Nor was it Shianni’s--the only failure was justice. I made our own justice by ending the life of the true perpetrator: Vaughan. 

I held my head high, aware of the quizzical eyes of my companions. None of them knew who Shianni was, none of them knew the true circumstances of my joining the Grey Wardens. 

“No,” I said firmly, “Vaughan is the villain, not me.”

The Guardian nodded and accepted the answer.

“Then you do not dwell on past mistakes--neither yours, nor someone else’s”. I appeared to have passed the test. He moved on to question the others. 

Morrigan refused to entertain his question in the slightest, cutting him off before he could even finish his sentence. He did not press her and moved on. 

When he spoke to Alistair, it was more of a statement than a question. He asked if he did not regret being unable to save Duncan. 

“You wonder, don’t you,” he said in an even tone, “if you should have died and not him?”

It was heartbreaking to see my friend acknowledge the truth of this question, to hear him admit the Guardian was revealing his actual thoughts. 

“I--yes,” Alistair muttered, “If Duncan had been saved and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance...maybe.”

He did not continue and the Guardian accepted his answer. I looked at Alistair sympathetically and squeezed his hand. He gave me a weak smile.

“Duncan wished for you to survive--to carry on a legacy. He trusted you, and would be proud of you, I know it,” I said softly. “Everything else is in the past, and we must make the best of what we have, Ali.”

“You--you are right, Bridg, I...thank you.”

We refocused as the guardian turned to our last companion. 

“And, the Antivan Elf.”

“Is it my turn now? Hurrah, I am _so_ excited.” Zevran sounded anything but. 

“Many have died at your hand. But, is there any you regret more, than a woman by the name of--”

Zevran cut him off. 

“How do you know about that?” He sounded defensive, almost spooked, and eyed our interrogator warily. 

The Guardian simply responded that such knowledge was allowed to him, matter-of-factly, before returning to his question. 

“Do you regret--”

Zevran was angry now. “Yes,” he said curtly. “The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know. I do. Now _move on_ ,” he ordered. 

No names had been said, but I guessed in my mind. I remembered his story. The story about his comrades, Taliesen and Rinna. The story of manipulation and lies leading to her to murder; the painful toll for his hubris, and reminder that he was barely better than a slave to his masters. He did regret it. I knew, under his tough skin, his easy going manner and quick wit that there was room for remorse and doubt. There was softness, and the ability for love to penetrate his heart. But what I could not determine from his tone was if this bothered him or not. Was he angry for being prodded about a tender subject, or angry because he allowed himself, voluntarily or not, to feel regret? I wished to comfort him, but I knew it was best to leave him alone. 

Done with questions, we were allowed past. 

Our first test was a series of riddles, and we answered them successfully. We continued on to the next chamber. We did not get very far when we were stopped by another spectral figure. I was leading the way, and gasped when I saw who it was: Shianni. Did this mean she was dead? Was this her spirit, or just her form conjured here by whatever magics were kept in this place? Alistair, Zevran and Morrigan looked at me expectantly, unaware of whom this strange elf was. We did not look similar enough to give it away entirely that we were related. 

“Hey.”

That was all she said. Shianni never exactly minced words.

“Shianni?” I asked, cautiously. Zevran’s eyes narrowed when he heard me, perhaps he remembered what the Guardian had asked me about her?

“Who else?” she countered my question. I was hoping for some enlightenment, to know that the real Shianni was alive and well. 

She continued, “It’s good to see you, I suppose. Life out there has been good to you, hasn’t it?”

I stifled a snort, ready for whatever short sighted commentary she was about to lay on me. 

“You’re respected, Bridget, even among humans. Do you remember us, where you come from, and what some of us still face every day?”

I determined that this was not her ghost. And after that, I had several things run through my head, from simply answering her question without explanation to asking her if she was trying to guilt me--as if she had any idea what I was going through, how I could never forget, but how I also couldn’t look back. What good would that do me?

But I did remember. And it would be false to say that I didn’t think often of how I wanted to go home, how I missed my family, my friends, and that I was determined to fix the situation in Denerim. I remembered how weeks ago, I was distraught when I was unable to enter the Alienage while we were searching for Brother Genitivi. 

But showing weakness in front of Shianni would be fruitless. 

“Shianni...I could never forget my family, or the Alienage. I wish I had to power to free you all--maybe someday I can.”

“Really?” Shianni seemed both pleased and mildly surprised. “Thank you, cousin, but that will take time, more time than you can spare.” She cast her eyes down and her tone changed, suddenly, she was less judgmental and she softened her voice. 

“What happened...it wasn’t really your fault.” She looked at me again, with tears pricking her eyes. “You were caught in the situation, just like the rest of us.” 

I wanted to reach out and hug her, to thank her for understanding, and not judging me. I wanted to have just a moment where I was not a Grey Warden, but I was Bridget Tabris from the Denerim Alienage. But her form here was not corporeal and we both cleared our throats. 

“You have a great task to complete,” she continued. “I want you to take this, I think you should have it. Seeing you now gives me hope, for all of us.” She smiled and before I could reach out to her again or thank her, her form faded away and I was left with an amulet in my hand; it was weightless but warm and there was a faint glow about the pendant. I put it on and suddenly we could see an exit from this chamber. 

We had passed the test. 

We continued with the trials, fighting eerie spectral versions of ourselves and an odd chamber with a magical path we puzzled our way across. Crossing it, we exited the room and found ourselves in a final chamber, blockaded by a wall of intense fire.It stayed alight magically, and there was a stone with a cryptic message in front of it. 

I read the message on it and laughed. 

“We have to remove all our armour.”

“Do we really?” Alistair whined. I could appreciate his hesitation, especially with the fire, but what could we do? We removed our armour down to our small clothes. Morrigan, unsurprisingly was done the fastest; she could give Zevran a run for his money considering how quickly he could be coerced out of his clothing. She goaded Alistair while he tried to remove his own as quickly and discreetly as possible. I had learned long ago that Morrigan’s sense of modesty was as refined as the hut she grew up in, and she often enjoyed the discomfort of others should they complain. Standing tall, she cocked her hip seductively and gripped her ample curves with both hands. She smiled deviously.

“Really, Alistair,” she said, “you, a Grey Warden and King-to-be, shy of a little skin? Mayhaps you suffer some terrible deformity under all of your heavy armour? Or do the Wardens require you to hide yourself like a Chantry Mother, pristine and pure for the Maker?” she laughed and Alistair tried to ignore her, concealing rage but still turning slightly pink in the cheeks. He really was adorable when he was riled up. 

“Or, perhaps...yes, ‘twould be far more likely, I think, if it was being in the presence of these fair damsels, soft bosoms and bottoms on display that cause you to blush? My, my, Alistair, ‘tis just a bit of skin, surely you have seen a naked wom--”

Alistair was now very red and called for her to stop, causing her to laugh riotously. I couldn’t help but stifle a giggle myself, both at his discomfort and Morrigan’s relentless teasing. At this point, however, Zevran chimed in with his own _tsk tsk tsk_ and I realised it was my turn. 

“ _Amore_ ,” he said, sidling up to me and examining me from top to bottom. I could tell by his eyes he was not actually being lascivious, but the familiar butterflies stirred all the same.

“Truly, I do not think this test was put before us for the Urn, but to see if I can resist myself taking you right here and now...such a pity there would be onlookers--unless of course, that excites you, hmm?”

I had to stop myself from laughing at his absurd suggestion while he waggled his eyebrows maniacally. Not to be outdone, however, I stepped back towards Morrigan and wound my arm around her waist, pulling her to me. 

“I don’t know, Zevran, seeing Morrigan like this has done some strange things to me, I may prefer her company to yours now.” Zevran’s eyes widened with surprise and an unmistakable hint of lust that almost made me drop the act entirely. 

Thankfully, Morrigan revelled in the joke, and especially in Alistair’s discomfort. His brow was furrowed and he stood by the flames with his arms crossed, clearly unamused.  
Slightly embarrassed, I removed myself from Morrigan’s side and said that we should continue with our test; we shouldn’t waste time. Alistair looked beyond relieved and I patted him on the shoulder as apology. 

My heart started to pound as I looked at the flames. My mind screamed at me that I would get burned, that this was madness. But I choked the fear down and told myself that it was magic, that we were not here to disrupt the Urn, and that the Guardian believed in us.

 _Andraste, I trust in you to keep us safe, to guide us. I beseech you to allow me past these flames_ I prayed, quieting my mind. Closing my eyes, I stepped towards the heat and kept walking until suddenly, it was behind me. I opened my eyes and saw that I was on the other side. I had passed through unharmed, without even a singe. Morrigan followed, completely unperturbed, and the men followed her with some hesitation. The flames disappeared, and the Guardian returned to congratulate us for passing all the tests, leaving us to the Urn. 

We spent a few moments regearing ourselves, and then headed towards the Urn.

* * *

A ceiling of blue-grey clouds loomed ahead and was slowly rumbling towards us. We would not be able to escape it; it stretched across the whole sky and the air began to cool rapidly. 

“Shall we make camp early?” I asked my companions. There was only another hour or two of daylight left, and setting camp up in the pouring rain would be difficult. 

We worked swiftly to set up our tents, and positioned Bodahn’s caravan in the way of the wind to break it some. Thunder was beginning to rumble, louder with each moment that went by. We divided enchanted runestones amongst ourselves that would radiate heat to keep the chill off in our tents. The sky transformed to an inky black, and lightning flashed. Shortly after camp was made, the first drops began to fall, heavy and large. We quickly passed around dried meat, cheese, and bread before settling in for the night. Within moments, the rain fell in sheets, freezing cold and relentless. The tents shook but the strong enchanted fabric held fast, and we were warm and dry inside. 

I peered outside the tent to observe a brief moment. I loved the savage beauty of a thunderstorm. Lightning rent the clouds and splashed the celestial canvas in shades of blue, purple, pink and grey. The saturated air was heavy with the smell of damp earth and cold. Mist rose from the warmer ground and the entire scene was beautiful and eerie. Satisfied, I sealed the canvas flap and returned to the warm glow inside my tent, shivering off the dampness. 

Unlike the others in the camp, Zevran and I had decided to combine our two tents into one larger one to wait out the rain, since we would not be roaming the camp freely to seek each other's company. Wynne had raised an eyebrow and Morrigan snorted at the idea, but the rest hadn't seemed to notice in the bustle of activity to avoid getting caught in the rain. 

Haven was behind us. We had secured a pinch of the Ashes, and bested Brother Kolgrim upon our exit. The entire cult was no more. What was even more terrifying, however, was the enormous dragon we summoned-- their “reincarnation of Andraste”. It was accidental, really. We were inspecting a giant gong on the side of the path, and Alistair, curious, hit it. A scream rent the sky and we could feel the vibrations in the air as the beast flapped towards us, drawing us in with a tornado of gusts. We very nearly died, I will admit. But the dragon was now dead, an impressive carcass on the side of a forgotten mountain. Brother Genitivi went back to Denerim with news of the Ashes, and we promised to meet him next time we came to the city. 

Now, I estimated that we were about a day outside of Redcliffe, perhaps a bit more due to the storm; who knew how long it would last. I sat in the double sized tent, ensuring the Ashes were safe and hidden in a lockbox among my pack. This was the first time we had built our tents as one, and I had to admit, now that it was done, I wasn’t sure if it was the best idea. I was nervous and chastised myself for being foolish and rash--a leader should always have her own quarters, what was I thinking? But it was too late, and the torrent outside denied other options. 

I took a moment to peek over at Zevran. My hesitations melted in an instant. He sat in a corner, wrapped in a fur to keep off the damp, and he was, to my astonishment, reading a tome by the light of a glowstone. I had never seen him reading before and honestly didn’t take him for the type. But he was very engrossed in the book, and I felt it would be rude to interrupt, so I sat amongst my things, and tried to comb my hair with my fingers. 

“ _Amore_.” 

I looked over to where he sat. He was holding his book closed with his thumb keeping his page, holding out a comb to me with his other hand. I smiled sheepishly and came forward to take the comb, sitting cross legged across from him. My hair had grown over the months and I kept it up in plaits or knots to prevent it being in the way, but I could not bare to cut it. Now it came down to my breasts and shone a dull, pale gold in the light of the glowstone. my hair was thick, fine and waveless naturally, but now it was knotted and coarse from the weather and my braids. I began to comb out the knots, feeling actual relief from my tresses returning to normal. I was surprised how something so simple, so small, could actually make a difference in how I felt, and how relaxed I became. 

“What are you reading?” I asked Zevran, who alternated his gaze between his pages and my hair. 

“It is one of the good Brother Genitivi’s works, _In Pursuit of Knowledge_.” He noticed my curious look. “Perhaps you are surprised I would travel with something such as this? I would agree with you, this thing is very heavy and bulky. But when I first arrived here, these things were sold in great quantity in Denerim, and I spent some coin on it. His entries on Antiva are indeed fascinating.” He smiled and set the book down. 

“I didn’t take you for much of a reader, I suppose,” I admitted. 

“And why not? Not being able to read could be a much fatal fault for a Crow; we had a large library and were encouraged to spend time reading, learning whatever we could that might give us an edge. I admit, I do not read as widely as others, but I do quite enjoy a good book now and again, when the content is interesting enough. The mind is a blade, just like any other, and your wit must be sharpened from time to time, or it will fall into disrepair.” 

I enjoyed this aspect of him. He was calm, happy even. 

“Not everyone in the Alienage can read,” I told him, “my father is a well-travelled, respected elf though, and we are friends with our _Hahren_ \--our teacher. They taught me how to read, as well as my cousins, Soris and Shianni. I think that… once this is all over, when I can return to Denerim, I will make sure that make sure that everyone can read, and that we have even a small library. If...if I ever make it back.”

Zevran chuckled. 

“My dear, not days ago you took out an entire blood-drinking cult and a high dragon--I think by now the Blight will only be a small challenge.” He leaned towards me.  
“Tell me, though, you said your cousins? This woman, Shianni from the temple that we saw, this is the cousin you speak of?”

“Yes. I left her and Soris behind in Denerim. She is younger than me, and impulsive, but it was my job to protect her and it still is--to protect my family and my home, no matter how far away I am. The real reason I became a Warden is….” I stopped short, not sure I could find it within me to tell the entire truth. “A group of men terrorized our Alienage, and tried to take several of us away--I had to kill Vaughan Kendells in order for us to escape.”

Zevran’s eyes widened, and I assumed he realized the gravity of an elf killing a human, even if he wasn’t aware that Vaughan was an Arl’s son. Or maybe he did know who he was, but didn’t say. It looked like he had questions, but to his credit, he did not pry. 

“This is why I told the Guardian that I didn’t fail Shianni--even if I ended up being taken away, I did what I had to do. And I’m still doing my duty. I will end this blight, and I will do whatever is in my power to help my people. I know that Alistair will be a good King, and that he won’t turn a blind eye if I ask for his help. We can begin to make a change, I just know it.” 

Zevran smiled at me. 

“You are very admirable, Bridget, and if anyone can do these things, it will be you. It will not be easy though, and you will have enemies who try to stop you every step of your way.”

“Of course, which is why it is so handy to have an ex-assassin who owes me his life so neatly in my pocket at all times.” I winked at him and and he laughed loudly. 

“My, but aren’t you the crafty one,” he said, and leaned into me for a soft kiss. His lips were soft, warm, and firm against my own and I stopped combing to pull his face towards me for another. 

“You know,” I said, “I know it is still early in the evening, but this storm doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up anytime soon. And it’s so very loud, I don’t think anyone in the camp can hear anything outside of their tent.” I shifted positions and knelt back on my calves. “Perhaps we can think of other options to pass the time, in case you get bored of reading.” I raised an eyebrow at him, challenging with a smirk. 

He grabbed my waist and smiled back. 

“I like the way you think,” he said, “tonight, I think I will show you what back in Antiva we like to refer to as ‘Ferelden Style’”.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little shorter and less spicy as the last two because I needed some filler with backstory before getting to the Brecilian Forest. I didn’t want to skip the Urn of Sacred Ashes and a chance to build up their relationship more, but I didn’t want to draw it out too long either. I also thought I would bring some more substance to the relationship with the Warden and Morrigan, since a Morrigan with high approval will think of you “as a sister”. Morrigan also appears to enjoy innuendo as well (look no further than her conversations with Sten), so I thought I would incorporate that as well to spice up the story. All Origin’s dialogue is the property of Bioware, when not my own. Please enjoy, and thank you for reading!


End file.
